Gotham Guardians
by DaWolfHunter25
Summary: A city overrun with crime. Gotham is falling apart. When a young girl moves to Gotham City, she realizes something. Something both frightening and mysterious. The rumors are true. The Batman is real. She doesn't ignore him though; she wants to join him.
1. Moving

**Hello all of you awesome people out there! Thanks to all of your wonderful support, you all made my last Adventure Time story, _Adventure Time In Ooo Laa Land_, on , a HUGE success! And another thanks to the BEST author in the world, Veronica Roth, for giving me _Divergent_ and the inspiration to write. Now it's time I think, to bring back this one. I did this a while back, about a year or two ago, and the title belongs to my best friend, however the content is totally original and mine. So, let me know in the comments area what you think of it, or if you think i should, or shouldn't, continue, and...yeah. I'll try to add a new chapter every week, but no promises. This kind of stuff takes time. And now, without further ado . . . . . . . Gotham Guardians.**

I roll over in my bed. The alarm from my phone blares a loud repeated honking sound in my ear. I drowsily touch the screen to turn it off, without looking since I have done it a million times before. I force my eyes open and see the time.

5:32 am.

I look outside through the clear window and it's still pitch black outside. I force myself off of my bed and practically fall on the wooden floor. I get up and turn on the light to look at the thing staring me back in the mirror. She's about average height with ocean light blue eyes and hair visually equivalent to a rats nest. I drag myself into the bathroom to shower, brush my teeth and fix my hair, so now it is its usual shoulder-length, blond and curly form.

I go downstairs into the living room to meet my older sibling, Ian, sitting on the couch watching some dirt bike racing show on TV.

"Hey," he says without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Morning," I reply with a yawn.

"I made you some breakfast if you want. It's in the microwave."

"Thanks." I enter the kitchen and open the microwave. I see a plate with eggs and bread inside. I heat it and eat. Every once in a while, Ian would go "Oooh," when someone crashes on the bikes. Honestly, I can never get that boy, even if we are only two years apart in out age, making him eighteen, and me sixteen. Our birthdays are three weeks apart, but his comes first, on April third, making mine April twenty-fourth.

After I eat and brush my teeth, the school bus waits ten yards away from my house by the bus stop. I say goodbye and hurry off to catch the bus. Today, is the last day that my family is going to be here in Seattle. My mom took dad dying a year ago pretty hard. Way harder than the rest of us. It got so bad, she couldn't even concentrate in work, so she resigned, which is just a fancy way of saying that she quit voluntarily. She started looking for a job a few months ago and found one.

In Gotham City.

So now, the four of us have to move all the way across the country to live in Gotham.

Today.

I am halfway through the door when Ian calls me. "Hey." I turn around. "Have a good day." I smile and leave the house. Since dad died, Ian has assumed the role of the father in the house. He drives me places, get groceries and even pitches in with the bills. Mom appreciates it, but thinks that he should be living his life, not carrying such a burden all the time. He never listens.

As I get off the bus, I immediately spot I best friend: a tall, pretty brunette with a wide smile and red fingernails. Her name is Megan. She doesn't take the bus. Her sister, Stacy, drives to school with her everyday. I walk a little to the entrance, and she sees me.

"Oh my God, Em. I can't believe you're leaving!" She hugs me tightly, squeezing all of the air out of my lungs.

"I know Megan." I say after she allows me to breathe. "Believe me, I don't want to go either, but . . you know about my mom."

"Yeah. Your dad was the best. I'm sorry for her." She rests her hand in my shoulder. I stare at the ground and feel a lone tear coming at my eye. I shake my head, as if forbidding it from leaving my eye, and look up.

"Just, try and survive here without me, okay?" I smile and nuge her with my elbow.

"I will," she smiles back at me. I hadn't even realized that we were walking, because we now are standing in front of home room.

"I'm going to miss this place." I say, looking up at the label on the door 'MR. ROBERT'S CLASS' in which someone has taken off the C and L. I take a deep breathe and open the door. Everyone I sitting down, completely abnormal for, especially this class. I look to the front and see that instead of our usual teacher, Mr. Robert, there is Mr. Wong Shu; the strictest teacher in the school. He moved here from Beijing a few years back and struck fear in the hearts of us students.

"Ms. Richards, Ms. Scott, why are you two late?" He demands. All, that is, except for Megan.

"The bell rang like thirty seconds ago." Megan was always the bold one. One of the things I admired about her.

"What did you say young lady?" He stands up and a few students laugh at his accent. He gives a sharp look at the class, who immediately shuts up, and looks back at Megan, who is texting in her phone. "Megan Scott!" He yells. His black necktie is too wide and his white buttoned shirt has a small coffee stain on it.

"What?"she says. Megan isn't normally like this, but she would talk back to anyone. Even her parents. The class bursts out laughing at Mr. Wong Shu's accent again.

"Shut up!" He yells at them, and I take this chance to slowly sneak to my seat at the back of the room. He yells at Megan in Chinese and the classroom erupts in laughter. He starts to yell at everyone in Chinese, only fueling their laughter. _Yep._ I think to myself. _I am going to miss it here._

"Are you sure you don't want to? I know I have a cousin who can hook you up," says Megan as she grabs a salad from the cafeteria.

I take a fruit salad. "No Megan, I'm not going to move to LA with your cousin."

"But I don't want you to go!" she whines. We sit in our little corner of the big cafeteria, at a small table. We've been sitting here since the eighth grade.

"Look, I don't either, but . . ." We all hear a loud beep, which signifies that someone is going to speak over the loudspeaker loudspeaker,

"Emma Richards and Megan Scott, please proceed to the main office. Thank you." Nearly two hundred heads turn and almost four hundred eyes plant on us. And for some reason, if it isn't bad enough, the whole room is quiet. I get up with my things and nervously exit the large room, closely followed by Megan. Our footsteps can be heard throughout the halls until we open the doors to the main office in the center of the school. The building is twice the size as the cafeteria and is three times as mush noisy in the lobby.

"What do you think they called you for?" Megan asks me.

"I don't know. I hope I'm not in trouble. Again." As we continue walking around the corner, I see Megan's mom standing next to a fake carnation plant. Her usually long, dark brown hair is tied into bun on her head. "Veronica? What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Hi Emma. Francine and Ian are already at the airport." she replies. Her voice is slow and tired, like she just woke up.

"What? I thought our flight was leaving at six?" I say.

"No, Francine said that you would be in your new home by six. You leave at nine thirty," she says, playing with her car keys.

"But why'd they call me?" asks Megan.

"I thought you would want to see her off."

I look at Megan, and she looks at me. Our eyes stay on each others. Although neither of us speak, I know that we were thinking the same thought. That day, would be the last day we would see each other.

"Emma, what took you so long?" Mom comes toward me and takes my bag and gives it to Ian, who puts it on the scale.

My eyes stay on the ground, and I finger my left jacket sleeve cuff; what I do when I'm upset. "Oh, you know, school."

My mother gently touches my cheek with her hand. "Oh, honey. I know you don't want to leave. But after. . . ." her voice lowers, ". . . after Vincent, I just need a reboot. Gotham will. . . help. I promise." _Help? Help what? Help us forget, or help make money?_ My eyes water at the sight of mom like this. I do really miss dad, but I guess it's time to move on.

The loudspeaker announces what I didn't want to hear: "_Last call; flight 108 for Gotham City. Again, last call for flight 108 for Gotham City._"

"Mom, we have to go." Ian says, struggling with three suitcases and three laptop bags. Mom goes over to help him, and I turn to Megan. We both instantly cry silently.

"Well Em, I guess this is it." She wipes her eyes and takes my hands.

"I guess so." I squeeze her hands, and she squeezes mine. Tears run down my red cheeks.

"Emma. Come on." Mom says pulling her and my suitcase.

"Megan I. . ." I hug her tightly, ". . . I'm going to miss you!" We hug for a while, us both sobbing on each other's shoulder, and I don't want it to end. After what feels too short, we pull away. I stand and look in her eyes, holding her hands. Hesitantly, and slowly, I let go, letting our fingers linger one another's. I turn around and take my suit case and laptop bag from mom and turn back around. Megan's head is buried in Veronica's shoulder, sobbing away. She looks at me, then sobs more. I turn around and roll the suitcase down the hall, and outside. I look back again. I see Veronica and Megan waving. Before I can wave back, the automatic door closes. It feels like it was cutting off my reflection from myself. One cannot exist without the other.

Mom, Ian and I board the plane and sit in our designated seats. Mine is a window seat next to a lady with way too much lipstick. Once we take off, I feel like a leech ripped off of its only food supply.

"Good morning Seattle, I'm your pilot, Jeff Ferguson, and I will be safely transporting you to Gotham City. Please fasten your seat belts and feel free to ask any of our on board crew for anything. In about two and a half hours, you will be arriving to your destination, so sit back, and enjoy the ride."

As soon as we lift off, my phone buzzes. I look at it.

From: Megan Scott

I miss you already! Safe traveling. I will always remember you Emma, love you!

Before I can reply, a flight attendant taps my shoulder. Her eyes are pretty, like a Chinese woman.

"I'm sorry, but you cannot use that unless it's on an airplane friendly setting."

I nod and switch it to the aforementioned mode. Instead, I put in my earphones and listen to music.

About halfway into the song, I get drowsy, and before I know it, I'm asleep. _Next stop, Gotham City._

**CHAPTER ONE is finished, finally! I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it. If so, then be sure to Follow or Favorite. If you have anything to say, anything all, then make sure you write a Review or PM me. Also, if you like reading at all, the please check out my friend Unkownstranger3. She is a REALLY good author who inspired and encouraged me to start writing. The next chapter is going to be up real soon, and I promise you'll like it. I hope.**


	2. A Dark NIght

"Emma, Emma, we've landed."

I wake up to my older brother impatiently shaking me. I open my eyes and see his short blond locks of hair jerking with every push. A line of people are standing, waiting to get off the plane. I drowsily get up with a yawn, and join the queue of passengers. Mom is a few people ahead of Ian and I, fiddling with her phone. Once we arrive to the entrance, I step off the plane and take a deep breath. It feels different here. The air is less moist and the sun isn't as hot as usual. Car horns honk constantly in the distance instead of seagulls. Then, my eyes open wide when at what I realize.

I'm in Gotham City.

After all of that packing and tears and time, we are finally here. It is a bit colder over here and the air is thicker. The cityscape can clearly be seen towering above everything in the distance. Of all the buildings in the city though, one stands out. The wide, glass covered body has a giant W with some some small text I can't see below it, but I immediately recognize what it is. It is Wayne Enterprises. Wayne Enterprises is by far one of the biggest company in the US. It makes everything: computer software, video games, home appliances, insurance, and even some weapons for the government. The CEO of the company, Bruce Wayne, must be one of the richest people in America.

The three of us enter the baggage pickup area and grab our things. Once we have everything, we exit the building. I stand in awe as the endless roads and millions of cars branch out in the distance.

"Emma, come on," my mom says to me. She and Ian are getting in a taxi. I hurry to them and enter. Inside of the car smells like a dead animal that has been dead for a while. And the scent of his burning cigarette doesn't help it.

"Where to lady?" he says through the rear view mirror.

Ian skims over a big map and touches it with his finger. "Uh, take us by the police station in the Diamond District." The taxi pulls off with a screeching start and I jerk backward. Ian and I smile at each other. During the ride, my mom and the driver talk about 'how better Heineken is than Guinness' while Ian reads some book about an Indian who got lost at sea with a tiger. I enjoy the drive, staring at the huge buildings and counting the people I see who are talking on the phone. Forty-two. I look at my phone and see that it's almost five thirty already. Soon after, we arrive to a HUGE complex. The top of the building is infested with satellites as far as I can see. I get out and help my mother with her baggage.

The front desk lady is blond and is wearing a lot of lipstick. She actually looks a lot like the lady I sat next to on the plane.

"Yes can I help you?" She chews her gum like it's her job and has a thick New York accent. I've never heard one before now, and honestly, I could get used to it.

"Uh, yeah," says my mom, "I'm looking for Jim Gordon."

"Oh yeah, he said he was expectin' you. Just gimmie a second, I'll call 'im ova." She presses a button in her desk and speaks into a microphone mounted on the table. "Commissiona Gordon, someone's here for ya." She releases the button and looks at my mother. "He'll be here in a minute." A litmus while later, the elevator on this floor dings and it opens. Out comes a man with short cut orange hair with some gray on the side and a same colored rectangular shaped mustache. His square glasses seem to glisten as he comes toward us with open arms.

"Francine, Ian, Emma! How long has it been?" He asks as he hugs his sister. "Ten years?" He asks as he squeezes me harder than a hungry boa.

"It's only been five months, jeez Uncle Jim." I say. He lets me breath and gets his next victim: Ian.

"And you have grown so much! You're almost taller than me, Ian."

"Again," I say, "only five months."

"And the same sense of humor Emma." He looks outside. "It's getting pretty late, so I should take you all home," he says. "I'll go get my keys." He goes back up the elevator.

I turn around and look out the glass double door. I see a car that wasn't there before. Inside is a sketchy looking man in a white suit reading a newspaper. I stare at him, and for some reason, my stomach tightens. He looks up and glares at me, his face scarred badly. Before I can look away, I see him put on a mask; a black mask; and he drives away. _Who was that,_ I think to myself. Whoever it was, I have a bad feeling that it wouldn't be the last time I would see him. And why was his face damaged so badly? And what's up with the black mask? And why. . .

"Emma, I've got the keys," says my uncle.

"Oh, right." I follow everyone outside, into his car. He has a large black jeep; one of those big armored Fords.

As we drive the car, I can't help but think about what I saw. His face, his scarred face, keeps appearing in my mind when I try to forget it. Who was he? A ghost? An I going mad? I'm so deep in my thoughts, that I don't notice the silence in the car, so mom turns on the radio.

". . . In other news, police commissioner Gordon is once again put at the mercy of the infamous Batman. Late last night. . ." Uncle Jim turns the volume down.

_Batman?_ "Uncle Jim, what's the Batman?" I ask him. He frowns at my question, then smiles.

"Just a myth. Don't worry about it Emma."

"I don't know," says Ian, "I have a friend who says he saw him. He said he's a human-sized black creature with horns on his head."

"Look," says my uncle, almost shouting, "there is no such thing as a Batman!"

"But the news. . ."

"Vickie Vale would do anything for a story. I can assure you that thing is not real."

"How can you be sure. . ." Ian just doesn't know how to shut up does he?

Uncle Jim turns around and points at Ian. "Jim, watch the road," my mother says. He ignores her.

"For the last time. . ." He doesn't get to finish his sentence.

"Jim!" mom yells and points out the window. A huge black Chevy is speeding towards us. I can't breathe. I can't blink. I can't even scream. I can only brace for impact. And I do. It hits the side of the car and we all jerk violently in the other direction. I hear a deep cracking sound. A bone breaking.

I hear metal clicking. I open my eyes and my face is laying on the frozen road. My body is in pain. So much pain that I don't even know what parts are hurting. I push myself up and feel a sudden sharp pain in my side. I look down and see that my once blue jacket is covered in blood. My blood. I stare in horror. _Am I going to die?_ It hurts so badly, but I try to ignore it. I look around.

I see three other bodies. Ian, mom and Jim. The worst runs through my mind. _No, they can't be. . ._ I crawl to uncle Jim since he's closest to me. His brown trench coat is also covered in blood. But he's breathing. Just barely. So is Ian. _But what about. . ._ I see my mother lying in the snow. _No._ I get up, ignoring the splitting pain, and run towards her. I see her brown hair is scattered wildly around her head. I kneel down beside her and press my head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat.

Nothing.

Nothing for a few seconds. Then, one single beat. Her chest expands, then deflates. She's alive. But just barely. I try to laugh in relief, but my stomach feels like someone is using a jack hammer on it. Instead, tears come out. Both from the pain, and of joy.

I hear another metal click. I turn around and see someone. He is dressed in black and is wearing a black mask, and stands over my uncle.

With a gun.

He wears a mask almost exact to the man I saw before. He also is surrounded by three other men dressed the same. They don't seem to notice me, despite the illuminating glow from the fires. I sit on my knees in the snow, staring in horror like if you tell a child that her parents died the day before. _Is he going to shoot uncle Jim?_ I want to stop them, but my body won't move; it is paralyzed by both fear and excruciating pain. I can only manage a small whimper. The one holding the gun hears me anyway. He doesn't shoot my uncle. Instead, he walks over to me, his friends following him. The four of them are like robots sent for one purpose: to kill.

He #!*% the gun, with the same cold metal clicking sound, and rests the end of it on my forehead.

I am terrified.

"Are you afraid to die, little girl?" he asks me. Does he expect me to answer? The tip of the gun is cold on my skin in the freezing air. I look at his eyes through the mask; no mercy. _This is it. I am going to die here._

I can see his finger tightening on the trigger. Just as the gun is about to fire, I catch a slight glimpse of something; a shadow in the dark. Almost like a big bird. A really big bird. The silhouette flies closer and closer toward us, until it hits one of the men. _What is that?_ It's pitch black, so aside from the fire, I can't see anything. I can only hear someone yelling in pain and a thud. _Will it hurt me too?_ I hear the other say "Get away from me. Get awa. . .". More cracking sounds. More bones being shattered. One more left. The one holding the gun to my head is worried. His hands are shaking and he is looking around frantically in the dark.

"Are you afraid to die?" I ask him. I don't know why, but I do. He looks at me, like he's looking at a dead body. He's scared.

He grabs my shirt and pulls me up. A pain jolts through my midsection. I stumble down, and he yanks me back up. I feel a cold metal against the side of my head. I'm a hostage.

"Stop it!" I yell.

"Shut up!" he yells. "Hey, come out! I'll shoot her! I will!"

Then the unspeakable.

In front of us, a large dark figure drops. It is tall, has two horns on its head, and it has white eyes; two cold, paralyzing, menacing eyes that seem to be staring through my soul. When it breaths, warm air is visible coming from its mouth. _What the hel. . ._ The man tightens his hold around my neck, so tight that I can barely breathe.

"Stay back!" He points the gun at the creature. "I'll shoot her! I swear it!" He moves the gun back to my head. The creature stares at the man, it's fists clenched tightly. _Is it a man?_ I see its feet slowly step toward us. The man pushes the gun so that my head tilts. The creature keeps walking. "I said stay back or I will shoot her!"

The creature continues to walk. The man shakes even more violently now. As the creature gets closer and closer to us, the man steps back, taking me with him. We back into the light of a street light. I can see that the man is sweating. I can smell it too. He is breathing hard and fast. The creature continues to walk towards us, its eyes planted hungrily on the criminal. We stand at the edge if the circle of light given off by the street light, and the creature is just outside. Then it steps inside.

He is a man.

He is tall and is wearing some kind of costume. It is black and dark gray all over with a black cape. He wears big gloves on both hands with three spikes protruding out from just after the wrist. He still looks just as menacing.

"Oh God," says the man. His hold around my neck loosens and he lets me. He turns around and runs down the street.

The person in the suit looks at me, then takes out something, shoots it in the sky, then disappears. I look at the man running away. He is two blocks away when the man in the costume slams on his body from above. While on top of the criminal, he brings his fist back and launches it into his face. In one punch, the man in the mask is out cold. The costumed man disappears again, then drops in front of me a few seconds later.

I step back as he walks closer to me. _Is he going to get me too?_ Then he stops, and turns around.

"Are you okay?" he asks. His voice is deep and raspy. Although he was asking if i was alright, his voice made it sound like a threat. At first, I stand in awe. _Is he talking to me?_ I look around. He turns around to face me. "Well?" he says, aggrovated.

He sounds impatient. "Uh huh." I say, still shocked.

He turns around again. "The police are on their way." He shoots his gun, "Stay out of trouble," and flies off into the snowing black night.

I'm still standing, trying to process what happened, when the police arrive.

_Did I just see, the Batman?_


	3. My Cousin?

I wake up laying on a hard bed. I look around and see blue curtains hanging from the ceiling surrounding my bed. There is constant muffled chatter outside of the room I am inside. I'm in a hospital. Next to me is a complicated machine with a lot of wires and buttons. There are tubes connecting me to the machine. I see that I'm not dressed in my clothes, I'm in a hospital robe.

There is a knock at the door. "Come in." I say. A nurse comes inside. She has short cut brown hair and is wearing a skirt that goes just above her knees. She is carrying a plastic bag, which has some clothes I see of it. They must be for me, since my other ones are ripped and burnt and covered in blood.

"Good morning Emma," she says. Her voice is gentle and soothing. "How are you feeling?"

I look down at my body. I can't really feel my legs, my arms are sore and my stomach hurts a lot. "Okay."

"That's good to know." She rests the bag on a shelf and sits down on the bed. "Do you know why you're here?"

I think back to last night. We landed in Gotham. We were driving home. Ian was being stupid. Uncle Jim was angry. Mom yelled. A jeep hit us. Three bodies. Fire. Criminals. Guns.

Batman.

"I was in a car accident last night. I remember police sirens, and it's all blurry after that." It wasn't much of an accident, since the criminals wanted my uncle dead.

"That's right. You're lucky you got out the way you are. It was a miracle. Not a single thing was broken. Only a few bruises, and," she touches my stomach and a sharp pain shoots through my home body, "a piece of debris gave you a deep gash right here. Nothing too serious though."

I touch it again, but much gentler his time, and I feel a line in my stomach, just below my breasts, about a quarter of an inch deep. It stings, like pouring salt on an open wound. That must have been why my jacket was so bloody last night.

"What about my family? What happened to them?" All I could remember was the bodies. They have to be ok. They have to.

"Everyone else is ok. Commissioner Gordon is a tough man you know. He only suffered from a few broken ribs and a fractured arm. The other two," her voice trails off and she grimaces.

"What? What happened?"

"Your mother and your brother will live, but they have to be released a week later than your uncle and yourself. They have many broken bones and it will take some time before they get better. But they will live." _Thank God._ "Your uncle is waiting for you in the parking lot. As soon as you change, you can leave. He already did all of your paperwork." She gets up and exits the room, leavng the bag of clothes. When she's gone, I get out of bed, lock the door and take off the robes to look in the mirror at myself. And I wish I hadn't. My whole body is burnt and black and blue all over. The gash in my stomach looks worse that it feels. It's deep and pink with a little red and purple on the outside. I look like I just tried to fight a flamethrower head on bare handed. I put on my clothes, avoiding touching the wound. They gave me a

Once I change, I exit the room and start looking for an exit to the building. The hospital here, however, is way different from the one in Seattle. This one is more crowded and far noisier. It's like being in a walled off part of Japan. Me being five foot eight, I can't really see anything above all of these giant adults who are scattering like ants. I stretch my little legs to try and see something. Nothing. Eventually I find a wall and navigate my way out from there. Outside, I find myself lost again, this time in a sea of vehicles. At least two thousand cars lay ahead of me and two thousand more my left and right. I scan the area to see if I can find anything. I can't see anything familiar. He should have a different car, since the Ford got destroyed last night. After twenty minutes if walking around, I give up and call him to ask him to let me know where he is. He flashes his lights.

"Uncle Jim." I say as I press my forehead on his window. He is sitting in a BMW reading the newspaper, and looks up. His left arm is in a sling. I knock on the window and he unlocks the doors. I get in.

"Hey sport, how are you feeling?" He asks.

"I should be asking you that. The nurse said that you have a fractured wrist. Should you even be driving?"

"Hey, I'm a police commissioner and I've been driving since before you were born. I think I can handle driving with one hand for a week. And it's a fractured arm, not my wrist." He sets the paper down and starts the engine. I catch a glimpse of the headline. **_BATMAN SAVES COMMISSIONER AND FAMILY_**

"Here we are. Home sweet home," says my uncle. I get out of the car. We stand in front of a twenty-five story building that looks like it was built in the fifties. The walls are an old burgundy brick and the windows are too dirty to see through. The inside, however is the opposite. The unstained blue rug and two men who eagerly take our bags make this place seem like a fancy five star hotel. The old lady at the front desk greets my uncle with a smile as we enter the elevator. He presses a button and the elevator takes off.

I get motion sickness from just about anything; cars, planes, trains, and the elevator made me feel like my insides were being mixed up with a spoon and a blender. I practically run out when we reach the twenty-fifth floor. I find myself in a quiet hallway of doors to apartments. In front of me is the door labeled 652. _That's a lot of doors._ In Seattle, we lived in a single story house, so I rarely used elevators, or saw a six-hundred and fifty-second door. Only occasionally when I visited my grandparents in Metropolis.

Uncle Jim unlocks the door awkwardly since he can't move the other hand and we enter. I follow him down a hall and unpack inside of a large bedroom. Once I'm done, I look at the time. 5:45 pm. I must have been unconscious in the hospital for half of the day. I lay in the bed and close my eyes.

As I lay, I keep thinking about him. Batman. I try and tell myself that last night was a dream, but I can't. Images keep appearing in my mind. The warm air leaving his mouth whenever he exhaled. The way his big, sleek cape flew in the cold wind. His glowing, white eyes piercing through my body every second they stayed on mine. And why did he save me? There must have been hundreds of different crimes going on in Gotham. What made me so special? Did he even care? So many things and questions running through my brain. My breathing slows. My heart rate decreases. And I fall asleep.

* * *

I awake to a knock at the door. "Come in," I say, not even bothering to move.

I hear the door open and Uncle Jim's voice, "Good morning Emma, breakfast is ready. I made waffles and eggs." The door closes. I try to fall asleep again for the next five minutes, but the bright sunlight makes it impossible. I open my eyes. As they adjust to the sunlight, I see some clothes littered on the floor. They are not mine, but they belong to a girl. As I get out of bed, my stomach abruptly hurts. The pain is horrible, like being hit hard in the stomach with a crowbar. I hunch over and hold my stomach. The pain gets worse and worse every time my chest expands when i breathe. As I move my arms, they are struck with the same pain. My eyes water, and I feel like I want to throw up, but I contain it. Somehow. I limp out of the room, into the kitchen.

As I enter the kitchen, I inhale a breath of bacon and eggs in the atmosphere. Uncle Jim is sitting on the couch watching the news.

"Uncle Jim." I say frailly.

"Good morning. How are you. . ." He sees me and rushes to help me stand. He accidentally places his hand on the wound on my stomach and I cry out in pain. He replaces it on my side, and sits me down on the couch. I put on arm over my stomach, hoping that it won't hurt as much. The pain in my abdomen, and the pain in my arms is so unbearable, that I can't help but cry. My vision blurs as tears run down my red cheeks. After a while of staying still, the pain subsides. I can breath again.

Uncle Jim comes back from the kitchen with a bowl of chicken soup. "I have to get your cousin from school. You stay here and eat this." He rests the bowl in front of me. "Don't move a muscle." He exits the apartment, leaving me alone. I attempt to move again, first by a little. I twitch my fingers. No pain. Then, I move my wrist. Still okay. Now, I try to bend my arm. The pain kicks in. Not as much as before though. Now my right arm. Fingers, okay, wrist, better. When I move my elbow, it doesn't hurt as much, so I eat with that.

When I finish, I do all I can do at this point. I lay my head back, and close my eyes. And eventually, I fall asleep.

* * *

I awake again. My whole body is numb. I hear my uncle's voice. "Barbara, help me with these things for Emma, please."

A young, female voice answers back. "Sure dad. I just need to change."

I open my eyes and try to get up. My chest immediately bursts with pain, but not as bad as last time. When was last time? I look at the wall clock. It's 7:00 pm. I noticed lately that I've been sleeping a lot more. I am able to fight through it enough to stand. I can now move my arms a lot more.

"Emma, you're awake," says Uncle Jim. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. I can move my arms now, and my stomach doesn't hurt as much," I say.

"Good. If you need. . ."

"Dad," a voice says from the hall, It's the same voice as before, "have you seen my. . ." A girl walks into the living room. She is arround the same age as me. Our eyes meet and stay on each other's for a while. She is wearing a pair of pants and a tank top. Her long crimson hair is tied back into a ponytail and a few strands hang on either side of her glasses. "Um, hi," she says.

"Emma," says the one she called dad, "this is Barbara. Barbara, this is Emma. Your cousin."


End file.
